Sneaking
by sirscreen
Summary: How did Tony, Tim, and Gibbs sneak into Saleem's camp? They had a little help from a psychopath. Now a collection of one-shots about the psychopath's affiliations with the team.
1. Somalia

**This Idea popped in my head while watching Truth or Consequences. Just a one shot about how McGee and Tony got into the camp.**

** Trev**

The thing I hate most about the Sahara, not the heat. Not the sand. Not even the wind which puts said sand everywhere.

It's the spiders.

Not in the way you think. I got nothing against arachnids. What I don't like is the fact that the Sahara is home to the worst tasting spiders in the world. The second worst, the Amazon, doesn't even come close. At least in the Amazon, those things are the size of dinner plates. They fill you up. Unlike these, which is like half a Smokey Joe.

I had been making my way on foot to the camp. When the wind blows, no one can track even a herd of elephants. So far, I spent the last three days navigating the desert at night. I was reduced to drinking my own urine. Again. At least this time I have a plausible excuse.

Right now I was on my belly, stealthily making my way to the camp. I checked around me. What was over the horizon confused me. A plume of dust, most likely from a vehicle. I unslung my sniper rifle and looked through the scope. OK, I'll admit the scope was a little ambitious for my rifle. With my skill, I wouldn't be able to hit the broadside of a _cruiser_ at three miles. But then again, it was equally suited for just looking.

A military Humvee was riding through the desert. I recognized one of the faces. DiNozzo. That bastard stole my kill. Rivkin was supposed to be mine, damn what Booth said about killing real people wasn't like a video game.

More importantly, what was he doing here? This was a black ops mission of high classification. The US didn't assassinate terrorists, that was the Mossad's schtick. Well, not officially. Which is why they sent me, the Schizophrenic Ghost With Dynamite. Big boom, plus more than plausible deniability.

I saw them stop the Humvee and the silver haired guy get out, carrying a sniper rifle like my own. In a Humvee, they didn't have a chance of slipping past the sentries up ahead. I saw those guys inject themselves with enough adrenaline to make a elephant fidgety. As soon as they saw them, those rookies would open a hailstorm of fire.

I scowled as a plan formed in my head. I decided to give DiNozzo this one. They would need help, though.

* * *

I had to move fast. They were 800 yards and closing. In a Humvee, I had maybe a minute and a half.

I always like fast paced violence.

I launched myself at a sentry, my knife-blade between my thumb and finger. I grabbed the first guys chin and yanked, while throwing my knife. The blade sunk deep in his throat, and the guy I was holding suddenly found himself with a broken neck. Good news, the knife had entered his spine, disabling him.

I hurried and dragged the two over the sand dune, away from the road. I went back over and started kicking sand over the blood trail, hoping to disguise it to the point where they would not look to closely.

I made it to the other side of the dune just as the came into sight. They rode right on past it. I jerked my knife out of his neck. Now for fun stuff.

* * *

I landed inside the walls of the training camp soundlessly. If they wanted to escape, they needed a diversion. Since Gibbs had the sniper, all I had to do was wait for the signal.

_Bang!_

Music to my ears. I held my silenced .45 loosely, the spray-painted desert camo not letting it shine. I peeked out of my cover and shot the guy I saw twice in the heart. I moved to a new position. New guy. Another kill.

I was in the south part of the camp. About twenty five terrorist students were here. Well, there was twenty five. Someone had killed over fifteen of them. I would take the remainders.

I scanned the area in front of the barracks. Three guys were running to the perimeter. I fired my pistol at them, one shot each. They fell to the floor, wounded. I put a round through each of their skulls from a distance, weary to get close.

The gunfire ceased, and all was quiet. Surely it wasn't that easy. I sneaked out of my cover and looked around. I was in a training area in front of the barracks, were they learn to... well, more along the lines of pull the trigger and clean their weapons than anything else. I quickly snuck over to the command center.

I hid behind a barrel, using a piece of mirror I always carry with me to see what behind the corner. I saw Gibbs and company carry a beat-up Israeli woman. Ah, that is why they were here. Rescue op. But wasn't the chick Mossad? Well, that explains why the Mossad wasn't here. Eli had strict expectations about his Kidon Unit.

I mentally checked my "Beef List" with Mossad. I had one for everyone I met or worked with or for. Mossad had the longest and most varied. I don't like Mossad in general, Eli in particuar. One thing, he blatantly sends Mossad into the US without our consent or knowledge. Sure, I do the same thing. But the US... IS … MY... HOUSE.

Goodie. He has 49 "Beef"s on the list. One more and I have a reason to kill him. I'm partial to hanging him by his entrails.

**To those who have read **_**Jenny Trev, **_**this is her father, still alive and kicking in Black Ops.**

** I LIVE FOR REVIEWS!**


	2. The Frog

**I know this was supposed to be a one-shot, but the creativity bug bit me and this is now a collection of one-shots.**

** Trev**

I might look forward to down-time if my handler's idea of "down-time" wasn't locking me up in a base in the Rockies built in the fifties to repel a Soviet invasion. Even after half a century the place still smelled like cigarettes.

Which is why I routinely break-out in increasingly inventive and slightly ridiculous ways(ex. Hiding in a outgoing barrel of lard.). Unfortunately, Booth is out working a case and I am _bored. _Sitting at a coffee shop watching people can get pretty boring. Sure, it's ample time to practice honing my people-reading skills. For instance, that guy is cheating on his wife... that guy owes money to the mob... that guy _is _the mob...

But, after four hours, it gets boring. Which is why my spirits leaped as my PDA rang.

Yay! The number people call when they ask for a favor!

"Trev."

"_I need that favor."_

"Shepard?" there goes my happy feeling...

_"One of my agents is working on an undercover assignment for an arms dealer."_

"La Granouille," Damn her need for revenge.

_"I need you see if he's sending anyone after my man."_

"La Granouille is an _arms dealer_," I emphasized, "You know how much I love guns? And what makes you think I have any contacts in La Granouille's organization?"

_"Because he's an arms dealer."_

"After this, Shepard, we are square, got it?" I hung up without waiting for an answer.

She's probably pissed at me because I treat her rudely. I don't care. Jenny Shepard is a manipulative bitch. The only problem was, without her recommendation, I would not have been able to get into the Political Stabilization Unit, and thus would have stayed in the Marines. At the time, I thought it was a sweet deal. Then again, at the time, I was a emotionless, ruthless killing machine who only wanted to kill. Now, I am just a ruthless killer who kills as a hobby.

Long story short... I owed her.

* * *

"Hiya, Ben," I said behind the guy.

He yelped and launched himself out of his seat. I grabbed the back of his collar and jerked back into it. For added measure, I drew my Glock 27 .40 S&W pistol into his groin.

"Now, that's not what friends do when they see eachother," I scolded, "And I thought we were friends. And friends also trust friends _not _to shoot their balls."

"What do you want?" he asked, sweating bullets.

"Friends also answer questions asked from their friends," I said, "The Frogette has a new boy-toy. Is your boss sending anyone after him?"

"How would-" I cocked the Glock, "Yes! He has three guys tailing him right now!"

"Where are they?"

"Some restaurant on the Beltway!"

I withdrew my Glock and went out of the bar.

* * *

I don't like to use Glocks. Yes, they are good guns. But they are also clunky, bulky, and the slide is friggin _plastic._ Plus, the thing doesn't have the power I like. It's a good carry gun. No one will pull me over for it when I carry it in my waistband.

But, for this, I like something... _original._

A 10-round, M1911A1 chambered for a .45 Automatic Colt Pistol round. The thing Marines would carry in the Pacific. Big as hell, loud as a jet, kick like a mule, and oh so sexy.

Right now, I have to get rid of two unwelcome guests on DiNozzo's date. Well, it's dark. Which means, I have the advantage.

Hear's how you tail someone as a team. Have one guy on the target at all times. Have the other out of sight. Fortunately for me, one guy is in a public restroom. He won't be leaving.

I go in, pee(hey, when in Rome...), and start whistling. It's just something I do.

I makes a move to leave. I stop, take out the braided shoelace garrote and sneak behind him. Before he could open the door, I slip the cord onto his neck and pull him back.

His scream never made it past his lips. He was so taken by surprise he couldn't even resist. I threw him into the cripple stall. He landed on his ass. Before he could do anything, I whipped out my gun and fired into his skull. Brain matter painted the wall behind him.

Now for the other guy.

I found him sitting at a bus-stop bench in the street, watching their reflections in the window. Apparently, DiNozzo was helping his girl study for a medical test.

I got into a crouched, fast paced and silent walk. I snuck behind him and rammed my elbow into the back of his neck. He collapsed like a bag of potatoes without the bag. I carried him back to the bathroom.

This time I laid him in one of the narrower stalls. I drew my gun and finished the job.

* * *

_Later..._

"Trev."

_"You were supposed to report it to me, not kill them!"_

"I take it you saw the news this morning, Shepard," easiest way to get her riled up, act innocent and calm when she isn't.

_"Now he knows for sure that he's an agent!"_

"Okay. Benoit has a lot of enemies. I'll simply kill more of his guys and it will look like one of his beefs has come back to bite him in the ass. Problem solved."

_"Those would be unsanctioned murders!"_

"Shepard, if I couldn't get away with murder sanctioned or not, then I wouldn't be where I am today."

_"I know you can! That's not the point!"_

"Fine! Tell you what. I'll be gracious enough to do this and show you how The Frog killed your pops. That good?"

_"You can do that?"_

"Please. Faking a suicide is the easiest thing."

_"Fine. Do it."_

Now she hung up on me. And we were beginning to be such great friends.

_12 dead Frogmen later...

* * *

_

"Boo."

Shepard jumped out her chair. She grabbed her gun and spun to face me.

I hit her gun hand with my left, and twisted it out with my right. I grabbed her right hand with my left and pinched the area between her thumb and finger. She went to a rigid attention.

Unable to move, she was helpless but to glare at me in rage and fear. I took her left hand and pinched the same area. I took her gun, cocked it, and put it into her right hand. I brought the gun and hand up to her head, my hand clutching her wrist. All I had to do was squeeze with my fingers, and...

_Click!_

I let her go. In confusion, she dropped the clip and checked it. It was a special clip of my own design. Essentially, it just had weights in it to simulate real bullets. That way, trained operatives like her would not be able to tell they had no ammo by simply holding their guns.

"This area," I pointed to the pressure point, "It's called a thumb-tap. Simply pressing it like so... and your target is unable to move. It leaves a bruise, however," I showed her the autopsy photo of her father's right hand, "Like this. The killer was stupid. Your father was a righty, but the bullet entered from the left. I compensated for that."

"So it wasn't a suicide?" she asked.

"Could have been," I shrugged, "Some suicides try it with their least dominant hands, if they aren't that serious. But suicides by using least dominant hands aren't that rare. And, he could have hit his hand on a desk or something," however, none of this is getting through to her. She was zoned out, imagining the possibilities. I rolled my eyes, "Have a good life, Shepard," I said as I exited her office.

I hoped that it would be the last time I saw her.

Unfortunately, I am not that lucky.

**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	3. The Favor

**Come on guys, please review. It makes my day.**

** Trev**

Ah, is there any better way to spend the weekend than messing with my handlers? Nope. Currently I am using my handler's credit card to buy lots of moto material(Marine Slang: means porn, short for motivational material), and then place it n his laptop. I know his wife is meticulous when paying bills.

My PDA rang, "Trev."

_"I need a favor."_

"Shepard! What the hell? I don't like you! Why are you calling me for a favor?"

_"I need you to get a man into the country."_

"You didn't answer my question!"

_"His name is Mike Franks. I need backup and I can't count on you for it."_

"You're the director of a federal agency and have Hal Ambler on speed dial!"

_"I need this to be off the books. I can't even trust Stab for this one."_

"What part of 'we are even now' don't you understand?"

_"When this is over, I'll owe _you _one."_

Tempting. Very tempting. Shepard could get me access to military grade weapons. That would certainly come in handy.

"Fine. Where can I find this guy?"

_"He's going to attempt to cross the border in twelve hours. I need you there to make sure he gets buy smoothly and easily._

"Fine." I hung up.

* * *

Did I mention that Shepard's plans suck balls?

_hate... Jennifer... Anne... Shepard..._

Let me tell you something: it get's very hot in the walls of a border checkpoint. No air conditioning here. No, what idiot is stupid enough to be there in the first place? This idiot, apparently.

I flipped open my pocket knife and carefully cut open a wire. It led straight to the network connection. It is essentially what they use to connect to the servers that say who gets into and out of the country. The Feds are too cheap to switch to WiFi, so I'm stuck in this tiny crawlspace between the sub-ceiling and actual ceiling.

I got out my PDA, and plugged in a USB cord into it. The cord's end was cut off, the wires left exposed. I tapped the wires to the exposed wires of the network and... yes! I'm in!

Since you physically have to plug into the system, which is guarded 24/7, they haven't really installed a password system. What they did have was a joke to the Hacking App on my PDA. A quick push of the touchscreen and I have complete access. I could get Bin Laden in if I want to from here.

I start a search for Franks's picture. I had the one from his NIS ID for the PDA to compare. And... bingo! Oh boy. No way in hell are they gonna let Franks through. After the Kobe Towers indecent, he was blackballed and all but banished to Mexico. They ain't gonna let him within spittin distance of the United States. It just fills me with pride how we treat our heroes.

I quickly erase the frank file from the computer. Now to get out of here.

Twenty minutes later, I exited the bathroom that I had used to get into the walls. Good thing I brought a change of clothes. That place was hot as hell.

* * *

_Ring!_

"Trev."

_"Did you get Franks into the country?"_

"Leon, how's the back?"

Leon Vance. A former handler of mine. I, so far, am the only one to land a spot on Jackie Vance's "stank list". Guess a wife doesn't like it when you pack their husband into a doggie carrier and ship him off to Puerto Rico. Well, at least I kept him in a US territory.

_"Fine. Did you get Mike Franks into the country?"_

"Now why would I tell you that?"

_"Because Director Shepard is dead and I need answers."_

Damn. There goes that favor, "Yeah, I did. I don't know if he's still here though."

_"Why did you do a favor for Shepard? I thought you hated her?"_

"'Hate' is such a strong," and accurate, "word, Leon. We had our differences, sure."

_"You wanted access to military weapons, didn't you?"_

"Yep. You're there to cleanup the mess she made, aren't you?"

_"Yes." _

"I wish you the best of luck, Leon," I truly did. That mess was big, ugly, and gruesome. Vance had just been put into a very fragile position. Other agencies didn't like working with NCIS because they had a tendency to be mavericks, especially the famous Gibbs. Shepard's mess would only make sister agencies more weary of their little, wild sibling.

_"Thanks. I need a favor, too."_

"I have a bad feeling about this."

_"You should. We have a mole in our agency. I've been tasked with investigating them."_

"Ouch. Mole hunts are tricky," I should know. I've tasked with finding some. But then, the ones I find would wish for jail. If they could wish.

_"This new regime change will cause a lot of stirring. I need you to pull favors in the underworld and see who does anything suspicious."_

"Now why would I trade a lot of favors for one?"

_"Because then you get a man high on the hog. Shepard doesn't have half the contacts that I do."_

"Yeah. I know," it's true. While Shepard could get me the weapons, Leon had the sources to make my ops appear legit and could get me a freakin warship, "Nothing happens that high up that those at the bottom don't know about. I'll see what I can do.

_"Thanks."_

I heard dial tone, "No problem."

I'm beginning to despise that agency.

**Now, PLEASE REVIEW! YOU JUST SAY "HI" FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!**


	4. Information

**Trev**

Let me explain something about secretive plans: if you know who to talk too, they aren't very secret. The movers always know where the cargo is going to go. The people who pack the cargo always know what the cargo is. And those who unload the cargo always know who gets what.

Information works the same way. In the same way that cargo needs to be packaged, transported, received, and unpacked, so does information. There are always middle men. Even if said middle men are simply geeks in charge of tracking your cell minutes.

Which is why I am currently duct taping a scrawny, curly-haired, nasal voice geek to a chair. Hey, I did give him a Happy Meal.

"Okay Frank," I said in an almost bored voice, "I tracked down someone making secret calls from inside a government building. Now, all these calls use _this _company's network. What I want to know is, _who _is making these calls, and _where _are they going."

"I'll never tell you!" he shouted. I hate geeks. Oddly enough, they are the most resistant to interrogation. They see too many movies and videogames about badasses, which instills in them a natural inclination to tell you to go to hell.

The key to breaking a geek isn't torture. It's giving them what the least expect.

Niceness.

Did I mention I hate interrogating geeks?

I pulled out the new copy of _Call of Duty._ The one that hasn't come out yet. He stared at it like a normal man would stare at porn. I placed it in his backpack, "That's a gift, from me to you, no questions asked. No matter what happens, you leave with this game."

"Umm, thanks?" he looked unsure, as if it were a trick. Trust me I would rather be beating the shit out of him to get the info, but I think I would only accomplish killing him. Looks like the only beating this kid ever received was on _Halo._

"Look, kid, I need to know who made those calls. I can find out myself, but I need access to the system to do so. I need _your _access," another technique. Make them feel powerful, like they are the only one who can help you. They are much more inclined to do so then. Even if it is for a price.

"What's in it for me?" I got a nibble.

I pulled out a vintage _Playboy_, "Miss October, 1983 will become your new friend." real him in.

"Deal." caught him.

Porn. The new standard currency.

* * *

"Leon."

To his credit he didn't jump like Shepard did. He merely put his glass of scotch down. He said, "Don't you ever just knock?"

"No," I replied, "I don't," I handed him the files I had, "Michele Lee, works in legal. She was temporarily in the MCR Team under DiNozzo. She still has the Top Secret access from that job. Daniel Keating, works in Cyber Crimes. Expert hacker, could easily get access to Top Secret files. Brent Langer, recent transfer from the FBI. Has Top Secret access."

"What does your instincts tell you?" Leon asked. Sure, ask the walking polygraph which one it is. Classic.

"Don't know. I have to meet them and talk to them first,"' I explained, "Only Tarquin can tell a mole at a glance. I have a feeling you don't want me to talk to them."

"No, I don't," Leon confirmed, "Whatever one is guilty, the other two are innocent. I won't subject innocent people to you."

"Good choice," I agreed, "I hear, you transferred away Gibbs's team. That true?"

"Gibbs has your instincts and a gentler way with people, Trev," Leon explained, "I'll transfer the suspects to be his new team."

"Won't work," I said, "That only works in my style of mole hunts, when the moles end up dead. You are a law enforcement agency. You need proof. Confessions without proof is like a revolver with only half it's ammo. It might work, it might not."

"I trust Gibbs to find the mole," Leon said.

"Does he know that?" Leon's silence was my answer, "Have a good night, Leon."

He still hasn't learned. The same problem he had when he was my handler still plagued him.

Though trust is skin deep in my world, it makes all the difference.

**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	5. Munich

**Trev**

I looked at the dossier. It showed two photos, one from WWII, showing a SS _Luetnant _who was muscular and had a sort of drive in his eyes, and another of the same man, computer aged. I was supposed to find this guy, kill him, capture his lieutenants, and smuggle them Sateside and deliver them to the boys and girls who interrogate those the COVENANT Project captures. Only, no one has seen him since the Red Army captured Berlin and he has an army of loyal thugs. Just another day at the office.

Which is why I am currently in Munich. Well, on a high speed train to Munich. It was here in Bavaria that the Nazi Party got it's start. A hard-core old Nazi like Deiter Kösser would probably be found here, especially since it is still home to many who sympathize with the Nazi cause. This won't be an easy one. These fanatics would be hard to break.

I couldn't wait to get started.

* * *

_Damn._

I should have known. Mossad is involved. Well, Nazi war-criminal, arms dealer, trafficks everything from guns to little girls. Of course Mossad wants him.

Hey, it's that David chick from Gibb's team. Leon sent her back to Mossad? I thought the guy was smart. Having Director Da- never mind. He doesn't give two turds whether his daughter lives or dies.

I scowl. This just got more complicated.

* * *

The big guy looked like he just walked out of SS recruiting poster. Big, blonde, blue eyed, and dumb as a damn rock. He charged at me with a switchblade.

Like I said, dumb. He held the knife in a reverse grip. He brought the thing down on me. I knocked his hand to the inside, stepped in, and smashed my elbow into his nose. I broke with a satisfying _crack!_ I kicked his knee inward, breaking it, and threw him top the ground. The wind was knocked out of him.

"Were is your boss?" I asked.

_"Bumsen sie!" _he cursed. I brought my foot down on his other knee, breaking it.

_"__Wo ist mein Kösser?" _I asked.

_"__kommunistischen Hund!"_

I don't like being called a communist dog at the best of times. I kicked him in the kidney, and waited for the spasms to stop, _"__Wo ist dein Chef?"_

_ "__Ich werde nie verraten!"_

This would take a while.

**Two broken ribs, a broken hand, dislocated shoulder, two broked ankles, and a bruised kidney later...**

_"__Marktplatz. Er besitzt eine Metzgerei am Marktplatz. Sie werden feststellen, dass sein Großneffe dort arbeitet. Ich arbeite mit ihm auf einer regulären Basis. Ich schwöre, dass ist alles was ich weiß!"_

Finally. I was running out of places to hit him. I stood up and curb stomped him. I got out of there.

* * *

The market square. The Bavarian equivalent of a strip mall. Most of it is modern convenience, things like movie rental places, dry cleaners, grocery stores, etc. however, every so often, you come across something old fashioned like a cobbler, or, in my case, a butchery. Here, deep in Bavaria, respect and use of the old trades is much more prevalent, and not simply because they are tourist attractions. Some of these businesses can be good money turners.

Normally, this place would have a quaint, nice, homey look. During the day. At night, it is kinda spooky, especially because at night, the prostitutes, gangbangers, and muggers begin to roam the streets. Munich has a large crime problem, in part to do with the skinhead neo-Nazi. Munich is the Detroit of Germany.

I got out of my tiny car rental and walked the streets. For once, I was hoping that the gangbangers would decide to leave me alone. If they messed with me, I would have to kick their asses and then the nephew would run. Then I would have to give chase.

Yes! The nephew just stepped out to dump trash. I am thirty yards away. I quicken my pace.

_"Amerikaner!"_

Damn. Two thugs, skinheads, walked out of the shadows. I rolled my eyes, _"Achtung?" _

_ "__Du bist hier nicht willkommen, Amerikanisch," _one of them said.

_"__Ich bin nur auf der Durchreise," _I explained.

"_Ich sagte, Sie sind nicht willkommen!"_one of them swung at me.

I stepped outside, hooked his arm with my right, and broke his elbow with my left. Wasting no time, I grabbed his shirt and threw him into his buddy. His buddy caught him, I turned and punched him in the face, were the jaw meets the skull. Nock-out.

I turned. The nephew saw that. He turned and ran. Damn.

I gave chase. He ran into an ally. He took a left, facing a dead-end. He didn't slow down. He leaped up, and ran up the wall, grabbing a fire escape.

I copied it, chasing him to the slopped roof. I cursed. It was too much like Hollywood for my taste.

* * *

The nephew stopped, catching his breathe. I had been chasing him all throughout the night. The sun was beginning to rise now. He looked around. I was nowhere to be seen. He sighed in relief and start walking toward a fire escape.

He passed by a window.

The window exploded outward. I tackled him off the roof. We fell through the air, landing on a car below us. The roof bent inward with our impact. I grabbed his collar, lifted him up a few inches, and punched him in the face. He wouldn't wake up for hours.

Sometimes, Hollywood has it's moments.

**I know that there hasn't been much mention of Team Gibbs in this one. But, this is like the first month after Vance separates the dream team, and Ziva is working with Mossad. To make up for it, I will leave a spoiler.**

**PS the translations are in order:**

**1 damn you.**

**2 were is mr kosser?**

**3 communist dog**

**4 were is your boss?**

**5 I will never tell you.**

**6 Marketplace. He owns a butchery in the marketplace. His great nephew works there. I work with him on a regular basis. I swear that is all I know!**

**7 American!**

**8 The equivalent of "yes?"**

**9 You are not welcome here, American.**

**10 I am just passing through.**

**11 I said, you are not welcome here!  
**

_**"How are you feeling, Ziva?"**_

_** "The next time I see that man, I shall kill him."**_


	6. Hapsburg

**Okay, I know I haven't updated in forever. I encountered a nasty case of the writer's block and only now figured out how the rest should go. Enjoy!**

** Trev**

I uncoiled the jumper cables. Really, I hate resorting to jumper cables. I, personally, prefer to shove a ten-penny nail under his fingernail by tapping it with a knife, but that's just me. The reason I went with jumper cables was the fact that this guy looked like a sissy. I thought, _Hey, take some metal pipe in those suckers, put them together and get that pretty light display, and the fuck will sing like a canary._

'ell no. That was one dedicated racist.

In the end, after a few hours with sending shock through his kidney, he told me the truth (he actually spilled long before that, but dagnabbit, lies mess up the fung shway of my world.) his uncle was hiding in an abandoned shack in the Hapsburg Forrest.

I packed up my suitcase, slapped a Munich sticker on it, and hoped a train to Hapsburg.

* * *

What the 'ell (Hey, it's part of my accent) ya'alls got to be kiddin' me! How did Mossad find this place. Grr.

I crouched low, holding the Gemtech OASIS suppressed .22. at the ground. Thankfully, this was at night. I could either kill them now, which would be easier.

But, I am a man who practiced in 115 degree weather in High School football. I'm not really known for taking the easy way out (unless it's homework. Or, in my now adult case, paperwork.)

I placed the pistol back into it's holster. Time for fun.

* * *

Mossad _Metsada _is usually involved in kidnappings. The differences between _Mesada _and _Kidon _is basically the diference between UDTs and SEALs: the job differs by such a small degree that it's basically redundant.

In _Kidon, _they're more likely to just kill you.

One of their major weaknesses is the fact that they never seem to deviate from the same plan. While working as a team has it's advantages, most teams get complacent and utilize the same maneuvers over and over. Me, being a lone wolf, am much more versatile, because I don't have to worry about other guys on a team knowing the plan.

Four guys. Two action guys, a scout/lookout, and a getaway driver.

Step 1: slip past the lookout.

Easy as pie. He watches the road, getting a commanding presence, able to see everything coming in for miles.

I'm not on the road. Doom on you, Mr Lookout.

Step 2: Get rid of getaway driver.

The dude was bending down to light a smoke. Well, you know how bad smoking is, right? When he looked up, be saw my suppressed barrel tapping against the glass of the BMW.

"_Hände auf dem Lenkrad, Herr Mossad__,__" _Hands on the steering wheel, Mr Mossad.

10 milligrams of succilocline, an analgysic that is metabolized into potassium, and he's sleeping like a baby.

Step 4: Eliminate action pair.

David was the more expeirenced operator. In the Marines, if it was the hard way, we took the even harder way just for flavor.

I came up behind her partner and knocked him out with the but of my pistol. As he crumpled, I grabbed him and threw him into David. She caught him, weapon, a Walther PPK, pointed uselessly at the ground. She tried to bring the weapon to bear, but I hit her with a pistol whip between the eyes. Lala land was nice this time of year.

Now, I have all the time in the world to capture this guy.

* * *

**Ziva David**

Oww... my _head..._

I opened my eyes, blinking as the bright light stung them. Slowly the world came into focus. Micheal voice came to me.

"Ziva, are you all right?"

The face came back to me. Plain. Chocolate brown hair. Hard, bright green eyes.

_„The next time I see that man, I shall kill him."_


	7. Smokin hot Agent

** I'm back! In this particular chapter, it takes place a few months after Kate joined the team, and Trev is still a wet-behind-the-ears Recon Marine awaiting his first deployment.**

** Private First Class Jon Micheal Trevodur, First Recon Battalion, 1st Marine Division, USMC.**

Sweet Mother Molasses of the Great Jehovah.

I can't help but stare as this absolute _babe_ walked down the line of Marines. Most of the other Marines in my platoon can't help but do so either. Damn, smoke should be surrounding her. She can interrogate me anytime. I can just see that cartoonish me with the heart thudding out of my chest and howling like a wolf, she's that hot.

"Special Agent Kate Todd, NCIS," she introduced, flashing her badge. I got a quick look at the first name, _Caitlyn._ Good, I already know a Kate, and she's like a sister to me. I dub thee Lyn, Agent Todd, "I am here to investigate the drugs being smuggled onto this base."

Pa taught us to recognize where people worked at by their stance. Military personnel tend to be rigid and stiffer than say, a FBI Agent. She's loose, weary, alert, more like a highly paid security guard than federal agent. If I had to guess, I'd say former-Secret Service.

And who do I work for, you ask? I officially work for the 1st Recon Battalion. Unofficially, because I speak fluent Farsi and Arabic, with a little Pashtu and Persian (again, thanks to my ex-CIA father who recognized all the action is going to happen in the Middle East) I was attached as an intel asset to the highly secret, Delta-trained MC-SOCOM Detachment-2. In the same way that the SEALs are working with Det-1, Delta operators are working with us.

Of course, she did not have the clearence for all that information, so we settled on this lie.

"Ma'am," the Lieutenant said in his South Georgia accent, "We be simple Recon Marines."

"Going to Afghanistan to kill Hajis," Lance Corporal Jared "Billy" (has a billy goat named Shmuel) Jackson continued.

"By sneaking up behind them," Corporal Mark Guitierez.

"Kicking them in the balls," PFC George "Jared" (he went to Jared) Dantuno.

"Cutting their throats," Sergeant Mike O'Donnel.

"And gouging out their eyes for funsies," I finished.

She glared at us. Specifically me, "Aren't you a little young to be in this crowd?" she asked.

Say _What? _Lyn, I maybe only eighteen going to be nineteen in a few weeks, and you're what, twenty eight? Twenty nine? No _way_ an ass that good is thirty. You're probably only a few years out of college and you're giving _me _grief for playing a young-man's game?

So now my A-Game is on. Time to do what I do best: freak people out, "I'm gonna guess you come from a large family."

"You really wanna play this game?" yep, definitely large family.

"High brother-to-sister ratio, and they were older, too," now she's getting nervous, "Leaves you ambitious, trying to shake off those family roots in a rural area, I'm gonna guess Indiana," she had a huge Ohio River Valley accent. The Indiana specific was a lucky guess, "Also made you have to fight for what you want, which gives you a somewhat prickly, and aggressive, demeanor. At the same time, highly religious," I saw the barest glint of a chain around her neck. Could be an heirloom, but another apparent hit by her eyes widening slightly, "I'm guessing Roman Catholic," she had that Catholic arrogance to her, and yet another hit, "That, combined with your natural competitiveness gives you an edge over some of your coworkers because you have the righteous, holier-than-thou belief in right and wrong, and it gives you further motivation to get criminals off the street," more hits, "It also makes you worry, because you want the White-Pickett-Fence-American-Dream. Loving husband, 2.5 kids, cocker spaniel, the whole shebang. That said, you also want a fulfilling career, which in your line of work, discourages such things," now you didn't have to have my powers of observation to see my hits, "And that, Agent Todd, is why they have me around.

* * *

"This is so not funny," I complained.

"Revenge never is to the revengee," Lyn replied smugly.

"I don't have any drugs!" I protested, "And I don't think 'revengee' is even a word!"

An elderly man in a lab coat, slacks with suspenders, and a bowtie that somehow worked, walked into autopsy. He greeted me cheerily, "Good morning, Mr. Trevodur! I am Doctor Malard. Now please strip your clothes."

Aside form the obvious weirdness that an old man, and not the smokin hot agent is saying those words, there was still the fact that said smokin hot agent was still in the room, "Ain't she leaving?"

"An Agent must be present at the drug screening if the suspect is of reasonable position to attempt an escape attempt," she smugly replied.

Made sense. I am a Recon Marine. I smiled, "If you wanted to see me naked, I know of more fun ways to do it."

"Just get it over with," she hissed.

"Ooh, commanding," I raised my eyebrows suggestively, but did strip to hair-ass nakedness.

"Impressive tattoo," doc observed, while she fumed that she couldn't make fun of my decent sized manhood.

He's referring to the black-and-gray depiction of St. Basil's Cathedral, one of the most famous cathedrals in Russia, on my abdomen. It's a play on my high school nickname, "The Russian."

"That's not what's impressive, Doc," I said, "What's impressive is the guy who gave this to me wasn't even eighteen and mostly likely over the driving limit drunk," I'm still impressed that Deck even knew what the St. Basil _was_. This was a guy who when asked what was the name of the place where the president lived answered, "It's on the tip of my tongue."

"Call me Ducky, please," he insisted. He's like a grandfather, except mine was former Special Forces in Veitnam and taught me how to assassinate a simulated VC-supporting village chief. Good memories, "Now, squat down and cough please."

I did the exam without complaint. Included in the package was a physical to prove I was still alive after the exam. Eh, I didn't complain. Smokin' Lyn had to stay here with me.

* * *

And now she takes me up to the lab to get processed. As soon as I see the geek who's gonna process me, I have an epiphany. Two, actually.

I'm in the wrong line of work.

And there are hot chicks in the Navy.

"Oh, hello hello helloooo," the "geek" who's gonna process me is wearing a plaid short skirt, a white button-up blouse with skulls for buttons, platforms, and pigtails with black nail polish and lipstick. I count _three _fantasies I can fulfill with this chick just by what she is wearing alone.

"Ooh, suggestive hellos," she purred, "My horoscope says to watchout for that. Men who say that are often only looking for one thing."

"Well, do you want what I want?" I asked.

"Of course. Doesn't mean I want it with _you_," she countered.

"Ooh, challenge," this might be the best deployment day ever, "I love challenges."

"Then let the games begin," she smiled devilishly.

Hey, where did Lyn go?

* * *

"Do I come off as... prickly?" Kate asked.

"Yep," DiNozzo answered.

"Aggressive?"

"Definitely."

"Righteous, holier-than-thou?"

"Without a doubt," he didn't even look up to see the daggers she glared at him.

"Thanks, Tony," She sighed and sat back.

"Did you let a Recon Marine get to you, Kate?" Gibbs asked.

"Gibbs, I swear, that guy is more infuriating than Tony!" Kate complained, "I mean, he-he- he embarrassed me in front of fifty-something Marines!"

Gibbs just stared at her in his usual unreadable way, "And that invokes tears from me, Kate," he replied in his 'sounding-honest-but-really-sarcastic' voice.

"Ugh!" she let out, "He's arrogant, over the top, childish, you should have seen him flirt with Abby!"

"He flirted with Abby?" Tony asked.

"In the same way you do with co-eds, DiNozzo," Kate fumed.

Tony raised his eyebrows, impressed, "Even I never tried to do that."

"Great, Kate, now you made us worried about him," Gibbs complained.

"Now that's kinda insulting," a voice said, "She's a nice, Southern Gentlewomen, ain't ya, Miss Scuito?"

Abby smiled behind Trevodur, saying in her own Louisiana accent, "Right ya are, Marse Jon."

Trevodur laughed and said, "Ve can say in Rooska accent asvell, _da_?"

Abby frowned, "I don't think I can do that one."

Trevodur shrugged and eyed Tony, "You, with well-disguised hangover, I'm gonna guess... brunette?" Tony looked at him funny, "No, wait, redhead, not natural hair color."

"That's very good," Tony sat back and smiled.

"Twenty-one?" he chuckled, "Twenty?" now he seemed marginally nervous. Trevodur's eyes went wide, "Eighteenth birthday?" he dropped his pencil, "Dude, you scored."

"Tony!" Kate cried in disgust.

"It's legal," both Trevodur and DiNozzo defended.

And then Trevodur turned to Gibbs, and all eyes were on him, "I'm gonna go ahead and say that you like redheads," Kate and Tony shared a surprised look that he got that off a glance, "Hair under your collar."

Gibbs pulled the offending hair from it. He was sure he was clean coming in. Trevodur continued, "Now, I'm also gonna say Marine Corps, MP, obviously, and, Designated Marksman? No, wait, HOG," Hunter of Gunman, "Divorced... four times?"

"Three."

"Hmm. Well, one of them you didn't want to end," Now Gibbs gave his Patent #628469344628 "back off" glare.

Thankfully for Trevodur, his Lt showed up to save his ass, "Private Dumbshit, what in the name of Diane's Hell are ya doing?" he saw Gibbs and said, "Jethro."

"Dave."

Trevodur's head swiveled between them rapidly, "Oh this can't bode well for me."

"Diane divorce ya yet?" the Lt asked.

"Took every dime," Gibbs replied.

"Private Dumbshit, what occurred here today?" the Lt asked the younger Marine.

"Well, I flirted with a sexy goth scientist," he gestured toward Abby, "Annoyed a Senior NCIS Agent," Gibbs, "Learned about an old Scottish Medical Examiner's trip to Loas, revealed Peter Pan's over there banged a chick on her eighteenth birthday," Tony, "And made a smokin hot NCIS Agent uncomfortable."

The Lt smiled and patted his shoulder as he led him to the elevator, "That's ma-boy."

* * *

After the initial shock wore away, Kate leaned back in her chair, satisfied look on her face.

"What are so happy about?" Tony asked, mentally preparing himself for the Mother-of-all-Gibbs-Slaps.

"Didn't you hear him," Kate replied, "I'm 'smokin hot'."

**_PLEASE REVIEW!_**


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